Worlds Collide
by Nicolette C-137
Summary: Kenny is self-conscious around his wealthy love interest. (Kenny/Token)


**Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or any of the following characters.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

Kenny had woken up late, that morning, and on the wrong side of the bed. He wanted to just roll over, fall back asleep, and start fresh the next day, but he'd already skipped most of the previous week. The principal had already given a lengthy lecture about Kenny's attendance, so Kenny couldn't afford to miss many more days. He frantically searched through a pile of dirty clothes for a t-shirt that didn't reek of body odor, and finally stumbled upon one that smelled relatively clean, though it didn't appear so. There was a pretty noticeable stain, but Kenny figured that didn't matter much, since his orange hoodie would be zipped up over it. Slipping into a pair of ripped jeans, he surveyed himself in the mirror. His dirty-blonde hair was messy from sleep, and greasy from not being washed in days, but he still looked unsurprisingly decent. He smelled kind of ripe, though, so he rolled on some deodorant, and sprayed himself with subtle cologne. With barely any time to spare, he made it to the bus stop, where Kyle and Cartman were already balls deep in an argument. Maybe he was just tired, but Kenny had a feeling it was going to be a long day, and he wasn't really looking forward to it. As the bus pulled up, he fought the urge to run back home. He took one last drag from him cigarette, threw it to the snowy ground, and followed his friends onto the stuffy bus. Stan and Kyle sat together, and Cartman made Butters push over for his fat ass, so Kenny decided to sit with DogPoo, since he was one of the few people left sitting alone. Sitting next to him helped Kenny feel less self-conscious, anyway. DogPoo's fingernails were dirty, his hair was greasy and disheveled, he had grass-stains on his jeans, and he smelled... well, like dog poo. Kenny mostly played his ancient PSP the whole way to school. The bus was quiet, except for some girls giggling in the back. People were usually pretty tired in the mornings; it was always louder on the way home.

* * *

Token pulled into the school parking lot in his Rolls Royce, discussing plans for his upcoming party, which Clyde predicted to be the 'best party ever.'

"You say that every time Token throws a party," Craig said flatly, stepping out from the backseat, where he and Tweek had been huddled for warmth; sharing the latter's thermos of coffee.

"And every year, they get better." Clyde smiled proudly, making his point.

As they entered the school, it was as though someone had turned up life's thermostat and resolution and volume; suddenly hit by warmth, fluorescent lights, and the bustling noise of student life. They started down a crowded hallway, debating the merits of Tweek's latest conspiracy theory on a supposed gray alien invasion. Turning a corner, they were suddenly met with the sight of Red and Kevin, making-out at the former's open locker. Red was one of the most popular girls in school, and considered by many to be way out of the Star Wars-obsessed boy's league, but apparently they shared a lot of the same geeky interests. As the guys bypassed them, Tweek complained about being scarred for life. PDA was 'gross, man.'

"Hey, there's Kenny." Token knew this statement was meant for Tweek, but couldn't help looking in the direction Craig had pointed, where Kenny was chatting with his own circle of friends at Stan's messy locker. Well, not so much chatting, as listening to the other guys. Craig and Tweek headed toward them, and Clyde followed, so Token figured he ought to tag along. "Hey, McCormick." Kenny briefly acknowledged Craig, as he appeared to be distracted by Token, who reflexively averted his eyes. "Can we stop by after school?" By 'we,' Craig meant Tweek and himself. They bought weed off Kenny on a weekly basis, though Token was pretty sure Tweek was also dabbling in harder drugs.

"Sure," Kenny said in his faintly Southern accent. His eyes were still on Token, and everyone was wondering why they were paying so much attention to each other, when Craig and Tweek were the ones who had business with Kenny.

"Okay, well, see you later, Ken," Craig said, already walking away. Tweek waved goodbye, hurrying to catch up with him. Token forced himself to look away from Kenny, and allowed himself to be dragged off by Clyde, whose arm was suddenly wrapped around his shoulder.

"Like I was saying," Tweek continued, once they'd caught up, "they're probably hiding among us. I think they camouflage themselves, like chameleons, or something."

"There aren't any gray aliens hiding in South Park," Craig insisted.

* * *

Instead of napping at his desk, like every study hall period, Kenny attempted to sleep at the library. His study hall teacher was a pushover, who let the students talk as loud as they wanted; which was cool for everyone else, but Kenny wasn't much of a talker, and he just wanted some shut eye. Ironically, it seemed he would've had better luck, had he just stayed put.

"Hey, dude," a voice jarred him from his half-asleep state.

Kenny lifted his head from the table, peeking beneath the rim of his orange hoodie, at the sight of Token, whose sudden proximity made him feel slightly self-conscious. Kenny was sure that he smelled funky, and his clothes were so ratty compared to Token's expensive outfit, which was probably from Armani Exchange, or something. "Hey," Kenny smirked, leaning back in his chair with feigned confidence, "it's Tokin' Crack." Token playfully rolled his eyes at Kenny's nickname for him, pulling up a seat. They merely stared at each other, until Kenny felt uncomfortable enough to break the silence. "So, what's up?"

"Signing out a book," Token said, holding up aforementioned book. "Hey, I think we should... talk... about what happened."

"Here?" Kenny discretely surveyed the library. "Now?"

"Well, maybe later?"

"Yeah, okay. I guess we should talk about it." Kenny had never been in this position before; none of his physical encounters had ever been complicated or significant enough to require being seriously discussed. "When, exactly?"

"How 'bout six-thirty?"

"'Kay." Kenny shrugged, figuring that would probably give him enough time to chill with Tweek and Craig beforehand. "I'll meet ya at Stark's."


End file.
